FINGERS ON METAL: A Poem

the artist strokes
the rough what...
quick lines are possible
criss-cross, cross-hatch
crisp lines cut clear across the sheet
you, a future observer, run your finger along diagonally
take pleasure in the smooth
cut corners with the rough
what the rough is...
the rough criss-cross, cross-hatch
and when your finger passes her eyes, pause.
the woman in the etches
her eyes reach out
is there a way to end this less... sudden?
transcending the metal confines
scratched lines send her eyes
longing, easy, peaceful
she watches you
with her imbalanced, unproportioned eyes
and you are frozen
as the quick strokes
dug diligently by the distant designer
dance down and etch her nose
creating the rough
rough criss cross
rough cross-hatch